Legend
by fiesa
Summary: Total Recall 2012. On the things legends are made of. One-Shot.


**Legend**

_Summary: Total Recall. On the things legends are made of. One-Shot. _

_Warning: -_

_Set: Story-unrelated/post-story. Go watch the movie anyway, if you haven't yet seen it… It's brilliant._

_Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

One man.

_What can one man do_ he thinks as he carefully plants each bomb. Programs the timer. Continues on. _Fifteen Minutes. _How can one man fight to save the entire world? He has no special powers, no greater good to cement his claim. He does not even know who exactly he is, even less who he wants to be. But all that matters right now is that there is something to save. Something to prove. And something to protect – someone to protect – and he finds it suddenly matters more than anything else ever did before.

One man against the world. The odds?

To hell with them.

* * *

"What made you make up your mind?"

She whispers the question, like she is afraid to ask. Perhaps she is. The softness of her hands and the warmth of her body so close to him – not touching, just barely brushing his – stop him from falling into the spiraling memories that haunt him until this day. A shudder runs down his spine, nevertheless.

"When?"

He knows exactly when and she knows he knows, too. She still does not touch him. This is too new – too strange, despite their history that lingers all around them like the scent of flowers lingers in her hair. It is only when he extends his hand that she takes his, that their bodies melt against each other like they have been waiting for them to make up their mind and yet known all along that this was right.

"When you decided to trust me."

He cannot say that he hasn't thought about it at all. But there has been little time to think, nevertheless.

"I'm not sure."

She blinks at him.

"Gut instinct?"

"Hmmm."

It's not what she wants to hear. It's not exactly what he wants to say, either. He tries again.

"What Harry – that man – said… It didn't sound right. I thought… I… All these men that were trying to kill me… And Lanie…"

Her hand loosens its grip. He holds her tighter.

"You said you would kill me. But you couldn't. Somehow I knew…"

He never finishes the sentence.

* * *

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up…

_Not Melina._

His body reacts, even though his mind still processes the implications of what his eyes see. The hand that touches his so lovingly is soft and unscarred.

* * *

"… The hell?"

"It's politics, Hauser."

"It's ridiculous."

"It's politics."

Sighting, he gives up, lifts his eyes. Melina wears the smile he heard in her words on her face, in her eyes. She is beautiful.

"They want _me_ to run for president?" His words carry the underlying disbelief. _Me, the spy? Me, the double agent? Me, the traitor?_

"They want you." _You, the hero._

"I don't want to."

"Those who don't want power are the best to be chosen to carry it."

* * *

What are legends made of?

Legends are made of fire and stone, of blood and tears. Legends grow from battles and treaties, from death and life. Legends are what save men and planets. Legends are what makes people go on when there is nothing else.

Legends are made of heroes. That's what makes them impossible.

* * *

"Mr. Hauser, you worked for the Federation?"

"That is correct."

"What prompted you to change sides?"

"You mean, would I betray the Colonies in the same way I betrayed the Federation?"

Outch. Melina wouldn't be happy. He was ruining this.

The interviewer held the embarrassing silence. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, his hand scratching his head. Fact was that he was tired and irritated, his suit was scratchy and stiff, he was thirsty and itchy and wanted nothing as much as to go home. He was a soldier, damn, not a politician. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back, trying to appear calmer than he was.

"I apologize, Mr. Jarvis. I am a soldier. I speak my mind. It is true that I was a spy for the Federation once. But…"

His _but_ hangs in the air. He feels the atmosphere lose tension rapidly. Melina was right.

"But you proved your loyalty."

_They think I'm a hero because I killed that man._

He is a killer, nothing more. But there's a tiny voice in the back of his mind, whispering with her voice.

_A legend. _

* * *

"I miss you."

Tangled sheets are wrapped around his legs when he wakes. He claws his way up towards consciousness, fights for breath. The whispered words seem to hang in the air so long for half an eternity he isn't sure whether he has spoken them out loud or they still are part of his nightmare, When she tenses, he realizes he _has_ spoken out loud. Dark eyes burn into him with an intensity that makes him shiver. For the first time he realizes there is hurt in them, too.

She knows him too well.

"Miss whom?"

She knows the answer to this, too.

He sighs. Hesitates. Rubs his forehead. The night air blowing through the window is cool, caressing his heated skin like a lover. The lights of the city blot out the stars. How long has it been since he has last seen them?

_Forever._

Tension hasn't left her body as she stares at him in the illuminated darkness of a bedroom. Valiantly as she tries, hurt still simmers on her face. Unlike starlight, it can't be blotted out by the darkness inside the room.

"She tried to kill you."

He almost laughs.

"Right."

Sobers again. Pushes himself up unto his elbows to face her.

"You tried to, too."

The hurt does not disappear. He reaches out, draws her in. Wraps his arms around her until her stiff body yields and melts against his: warm, soft. Perfect.

"Please don't leave."

Her heart beats steadily against his. Her hurt mingles with his fear, ebbs off into something almost endurable. Just barely. In the morning she smiles and leaves and he grins and leaves, as well. _Oh and how perfectly messed up we are._

They melt together every night and are torn apart in the morning and sometimes they break at night, as well.

* * *

Despite being one of three candidates running for presidency, he is elected the First President of the Free Colonies with more than eighty percent. Despite his history. Despite his refusal to wear suits and to stand still for the press.

"We should celebrate."

"I think it's more a cause for mourning."

She glares at him.

* * *

Four years.

Four big and four small goals.

* * *

"What will come next, what do you think?"

"What do you want to do next?"

She thinks about it.

"I don't know. Found a kinder garden for war orphans. Rebuild Skyline Park. Tear down the Fall. Open a Shopping Mall. Find a good way to govern a new state. Subsidize new hospitals. Go out, watch a movie, have a burger."

There is something more she decides not say now, but her eyes sing as she looks at him. He smiles.

"Let's start with the burger. I'm not sure the movie theaters are open yet."

Her hand in his feels warm, and he thinks - for the first time - that perhaps everything will be fine, someday.

* * *

One man.

What can one man do? Not even with the powers imbued to him by the people he is powerful enough to change the world within a few years. He is nothing special, just a man trained very well in the art of killing and fighting. A warrior. Warriors don't make it into books, don't write history. Warriors fight and die. And warriors are only men, too, nothing more.

_It doesn't matter_, he hears Melina's voice. _It doesn't matter you're just a man._

After all, legends are made of men.


End file.
